Chaning Cheyenne Read online

  "I knew it,” she said, looking for a chink in his armor. “You're jealous of the money. You think I'm an ungrateful brat."

  "You're just a job,” he replied, angering her to a surprising degree with his callousness.

  "Fuck you, No Name."

  The silence burned.

  "It's Reed,” he said at last. “You can call me Reed."

  She said the name in her head a couple of dozen times.

  So what's in my future, Reed? she wondered at last. Are you going to be of use to me? She could think of a few things to do to him.

  For starters, she would like to change roles, have him handcuffed for a little while. Then she could explore that magnificent body of his, inch by naked inch, tawny skin over muscle, stretched like a lion's.

  "So how much is my father paying you?” she wanted to know.

  She thought she detected a note of irritation. Or was it discomfort?

  "Sorry if I embarrassed your kidnapper's sensibilities with the mention of filthy,” she said sardonically.

  Frank would never kidnap anyone, she thought. He broke some laws, sure, but the crimes were victimless. This one, on the other hand...

  "A hundred thousand up front,” he surprised her with a straight answer. “Another four when the job is complete."

  "And what will make it complete, Reed? Do you intend to take me off somewhere and scare me straight? Turn me into a good, obedient daughter ready to go home begging forgiveness?"

  He shook his head.

  "What?” she demanded, as if it mattered what he thought.

  "I just don't get it, why you would worry people like you do."

  "My father doesn't worry. That's an emotion he isn't capable of."

  "He loves you, that's obvious."

  "He has funny ways of showing it."

  "What about you?” Reed asked.

  "What about me?"

  They were off the highway, traveling down a four lane state road, woods on either side. Whatever game he and Daddy were up to, she was liking it less and less.

  "Is this how you show your love to your father? By joining a motorcycle gang?"

  She shrugged. “It could have been worse. I might have been a lawyer."

  "You have a quick tongue,” he said. “And a brain. Too bad you don't use it."

  Biting her captor was probably not the smartest move but it came instinctively.

  Reed cursed as she dug her small teeth into the flesh of his upper arm. He smelled good, like fresh pine and musk.

  "Son of a bitch!"

  The vehicle lurched dangerously to the right. She let go allowing him to regain control just in time to avoid striking a tree.

  She sucked at her lower lip, watching him rub the wound. “Are you all right?” she asked, suddenly sheepish.

  "Of course I'm not all right. You just bit me. What the hell is wrong with you?” he shouted.

  "Don't be such a baby. Let me have a look."

  Reluctantly, he let her look at the serrated circle, pressure marks but no punctures.

  "See?” she announced, vindicated. “It didn't even break the skin."

  The good news didn't seem to cheer him up any. The way he was looking at her, so resolved, so determined ... so masculine made her pussy pulse with desire.

  "You listen to me closely,” he said in a tone not to be defied. “Pull another stunt like that and you will meet with punishment, swift, certain and severe."

  She tried to hide her nervous excitement with mockery. “What are you going to do, spank me?"

  "If I have to, yes,” he replied, flooring her.

  Cheyenne swallowed hard, imagining Reed's large, capable hand impacting on her quivering buttocks, clothed or perhaps naked.

  Talk about squirming.

  "You wouldn't dare,” she said, trying not to make it sound like a question.

  His blue eyes burned, making her stomach flip with hot need. If he were to touch her now...

  "Try me,” was all he said and she knew better than to inquire further.

  The next dozen miles passed without comment from either party. All Cheyenne could think about was Reed punishing her, disciplining her. Once or twice she had nearly been struck by men, once with Mad Dog a little while ago, but on neither occasion had it been erotic. This was different.

  In her mind she saw the spanking ending in a very different place.

  She imagined herself, over his knee. All he would need to do would be to move a single finger down, inside, along the ridge of her sex. He would find her dripping wet. She would moan, her hot, throbbing ass, twitching with need.

  "Tell me,” he would say. “What do you need?"

  "I need to be fucked,” she would moan.

  His hand would crack down again, a sweetly savage blow to her already stinging bottom. “'I need to be fucked, Sir.’”

  "Oh, god, yes,” she would surrender. “Please, Sir, fuck me ... use me ... take me..."

  "For the record,” she said as they turned onto a smaller, two lane road, one with a single dotted yellow line and narrow gravel shoulders. “I wasn't really going to have sex with you."

  "For the record,” he replied in a heartbeat. “I could care less."

  Chapter Two

  It wasn't the biting that bothered Reed or even the fact that she had nearly caused them to collide into a tree. The real danger would have come afterwards, had they ended up stranded on the road side. There was no telling how close the assassins from the Hell Raisers might be by now. They had made a clean getaway from the cemetery and as near as he could tell they had not been tailed.

  The Hell Raisers had apparently decided that Frank's funeral was not the place to finish the job. As it was, eliminating the Vipers hadn't been the Hell Raisers own idea but that of Tojiharo Masoko, a rival of Cheyenne's father whose ties to organized crime had led him down a dark road of murder.

  Cheyenne had no clue that she had been the real target of the drive by shooting that had taken Frank's life. She had been out of the room at the time, a mere handful of feet from destruction. Masoko was not the sort to accept failure. If the Hell Raisers didn't get the job done, he would eliminate them and bring his own Yakuza killers.

  For all Reed knew, he had already done so.

  Up to now, Reed had only lied about one thing to Cheyenne.

  He had not taken a nickel for this assignment nor would he in the future. Protecting the life of Cheyenne Stanley was a duty, a personal favor he was undertaking for his former FSA Chief, one of Rutherford Stanley's closest friends.

  "I owe Rutherford my life,” his old boss, the cantankerous Colonel Houston had told him. “He saved my miserable hide back in ‘Nam. If his daughter's in danger, I have to send the best and that's you."

  "Do the words, ‘I'm retired’ mean anything to you?” Reed had wondered aloud.

  The question was rhetorical. Reed never doubted he would take on the job. Not even if it cost him his own life.

  "You'll need to take Cheyenne into hiding,” Jack Houston had told him. “Whether she likes it or not."

  The emphasis being on the ‘or not.'

  Reed was pleased as they pulled up to the cabin. It was perfect. Secluded, on a ridge, easily defensible with only one way in off the main road. Later, once Cheyenne was settled in, he would go back and cover over their tracks. He would also lay some caches of weapons and supplies in the woods in case they had to make a retreat on foot.

  On the way in his mind had been whirring, laying out various scenarios, possible attacks. All in all, it looked good here, assuming Cheyenne stayed put.

  If he had to he would keep her cuffed.

  That would be rough on his libido. Just the thought of the beautiful Cheyenne, furious, chained to a bed made his heart race and his blood pound. He couldn't afford to give in, though, no matter how tempting. Making love to a woman you were supposed to be protecting was an invitation to disaster.

  Cheyenne had been getting increasingly agitated. When they finally reached the c
abin, she let him have it.

  "Is this some kind of fucking joke?” she blasted. “If you wanted to rape and kill me you could have picked some motel at least. Look at this, will you. The last thing I will ever see will probably be some stupid squirrel."

  "Don't worry, they don't get many squirrels out this way,” he said, bemused.

  "Wow.” She rolled her eyes. “Things are looking up already."

  "That's right,” he deadpanned. “The bears chase them off."

  The blood drained from her face.

  He stifled a laugh. He couldn't help it. She was so adorable, good enough to eat. “I'm kidding,” he said. “Besides I have guns to shoot the bears."

  Cheyenne pouted her lips. It was all he could do to sweep her into his arms for a kiss. What would she taste like? Damn good after a long ride, like a cool drink to a man in the desert.

  But what about the heat, scorching fire that was sure to result in further contact, a whole lot intimate.

  He imagined her, on her back, amidst the pine needles, her clothes in disarray, her eyes wide with need, her legs wider still, inviting the penetration of his impossibly hard cock. He would never make it past the second or third thrust. Like a teenager, he would explode, filling her with his thick seed, pumped from his aching testicles, the physical proof of the lust that had been building in him since he had first laid eyes on her.

  Reed opened the door and extended his hand to help her out.

  "I'll do it myself,” she insisted, pulling back from his touch.

  "Suit yourself."

  She scooted forward, her back arched, breasts jiggling enticingly.

  Shit. This was going to be tougher than he thought.

  Turning sideways to shield his erection, he waited for her to step onto the ground then closed the door behind her.

  It was late afternoon now and the sun was setting behind them over the ridge. Reed couldn't imagine a more breathtaking sight. Except for seeing Cheyenne naked. That would likely top everything in the known universe.

  All too soon, he would find out.

  "What are you looking at?” she demanded.

  "Nothing,” he said. “Let's get you inside. I have some work to do around the perimeter."

  He had land mines, he was still weighing whether to plant them or not.

  They would stall any large scale attack, though if she should escape, which was not impossible, she might run right into one.

  "You have a hard on, don't you?” she said.

  Reed scowled, pointing to the humble cabin with the slightly leaning porch. “Quit stalling and get a move on."

  Cheyenne stood her ground. “This shit is turning you on,” she decided.

  "Is that all you think about?” he said. “Sex?"

  She smiled, half wench, half devil. “I'm in a motorcycle gang, I'm a bad girl. What do you expect? I like sex, especially the nasty, leather kind."

  "Lace would suit you much better,” he said with an intensity that startled him.

  Cheyenne laughed derisively. “I would rather wear nothing at all."

  "Be careful what you wish for,” Reed muttered, steering her by the arm.

  "What is that supposed to mean?” she demanded.

  "You'll find out in a minute,” he said closing the cabin door behind him.

  "I want to know now."

  Reed pulled the handcuff key from his pocket. “Turn around."

  Cheyenne obliged, allowing him to remove the cuffs.

  He gave her a few moments to rub her slender wrists.

  "I'm waiting,” she goaded him.

  Reed ignored her as he surveyed the cabin. There was a small bathroom and a kitchen area. The bed was in one corner. A couch was in the other along with an early American style arm chair and lamp. The floors were covered with bear skin rugs, black and white and brown. One wall was taken up by a fire place with a stone hearth.

  Moving to the dresser, he opened the drawers one at a time. The top contained clothes suitable for a man, tee shirts, socks and underwear along with a pair of jeans.

  He cleared his throat as he looked in the middle drawer. It was full of female underwear, all silk and lace, bras and panties. These had been placed here at the orders of Cheyenne's father.

  "She is a woman,” he had told Reed in his thundering bass voice, “And by god, she will dress like one if you have to force her at gunpoint."

  The bottom drawer contained skirts, tank tops and a couple of folded sun dresses. Reed noted the lack of pants.

  Under the dresser he spied a pair of sandals, wispy straps with flowers.

  Cheyenne was going to love this.

  "What's in there?” she wanted to know.

  "Your wardrobe,” he said.

  "I have clothes on already."

  Reed selected a white silk bra and a pair of panties. They were trimmed in pink lace. His heart slammed in his chest as he thought of the material caressing the skin of the gorgeous Cheyenne.

  "Your father doesn't approve of motorcycle gear,” he explained, tossing them into her hands.

  "My father can go straight to hell,” she pronounced, throwing them back in his face. “And so can you. Where is he, anyway? What are we doing in this stupid cabin? If my father thinks he can use you to brainwash me he is sorely mistaken."

  Reed sighed heavily. He did not have time for this kind of argument. As far as he was concerned, both father and daughter were a couple of spoiled brats. “You are here for your protection, that's all. You think I am any happier about this than you? I have a damned difficult job to do here and this is taking me away from it."

  She put her hands to her hips. “And what is your job, exactly? So far you've gotten to put me in bondage, lock me up in a cabin and now you're going to make me play dress up. Are you telling me I should feel sorry for you?"

  Reed tried to keep his temper. “If you think I'm getting some thrill out of this—"

  "Could have fooled me,” she interrupted, glaring significantly as his erection.

  Reed ducked down to pull a dress from the third drawer. She was getting the better of him and it needed to stop. “You will change into this,” he ordered. “From this point on, you will dress like a lady, you will speak like a lady and you will act like one."

  "You can't tell me what to do,” she informed him.

  Her nose was in the air defiant. He was sorely tempted to kiss her into obedience, but alas, this was no option.

  "I can tell you what to do, Cheyenne, you are my prisoner,” he said.

  "You're not the law,” she reminded.

  "No, but I will punish you nonetheless. Now either you remove that ridiculous get up or I will do it for you. And make no mistake you'll end up with a very sore ass in the bargain."

  Cheyenne attempted to stare him down with her emerald laser eyes.

  He gave it right back, waiting for her to blink first.

  "I'll change in the bathroom,” she said at last, attempting to save face.

  Reed stood firm. “You'll do it here."

  "So you are a pervert,” she accused.

  Reed brushed aside the sexual aspects, the exercising of power over his captive. “I'm not letting you out of my sight until I have secured the property, that's all."

  "You want to see me naked. You want to humiliate me,” she accused.

  "There's no cause to feel humiliated,” he said, without a trace of cynicism. “Not as lovely as you are."

  Her brow lowered, suspicious. “If you're trying to get on my good side, I don't have one."

  "Point taken,” he said, employing the same measured tone he had used with Mad Dog. “Now strip."

  * * * *

  Cheyenne attempted to hide her arousal behind anger. The fact that her outbursts had done nothing to break his resolve flooded her pussy and weakened her knees.

  She really had no choice. Either she bared her body to Reed here and now or he would attend to the matter himself, likely ripping the clothes from her cringing body.

 
"I hate you,” she fumed, tearing off her jacket and tossing it onto the floor.

  "Duly noted,” he said, his face expressionless.

  "You could at least turn your back,” she said, making a last ditch attempt to stall him.

  He took a step toward her. “Time's up."

  "No, wait.” Cheyenne lifted her tank top, exposing her breasts.

  The nipples were turgid, evidence of her helpless excitement.

  "Here,” she presented her chest brazenly. “I know you've been wanting to get a look at these."

  "It's not like you do much to disguise them,” he retorted.

  "Why shouldn't I be proud?” she defied. “Frankie loved them, he loved me."

  Cheyenne knew she was on unsteady ground, falling back on Frankie like this. Frankie loved sex, he loved to play with her body as his personal toy, that was true, but beyond that, who could be sure.

  It was Reed's fault, the way he kept putting her on the defensive. She was just trying to get him back, to make him feel ... jealous?

  The word had popped into her head unbidden.

  That couldn't be it, could it?

  "Your father's right. You should be wearing a bra,” Reed said, making her bosom seem pornographic. “You're too much of a female to be so exposed."

  "I was much better protected with my leather jacket than I will be in a dress,” she pointed out.

  "I don't see how,” he said. “Take off your boots and pants. Do you have panties on at least?"

  "A thong.” She winked. “You can wear it if you like."

  Reed ignored her attempt to goad him. “Females should dress modestly. Panties, stockings, dresses to at least mid thigh."

  "Don't forget the burkah,” she added, removing her boots one by one.

  She unzipped her pants next, exquisitely sensitive to the separation of the metal tabs. Why did this feel so much like a strip tease?

  Her feet tingled, her bare toes dug into the soft fur rug. It seemed so unfair that Reed got to keep his clothes on. But then he was the captor, wasn't he?

  Sliding her pants down her thighs, she exposed the tiny thong.

  Race car red, the worst possible color.

  Her cheeks heated, the color approaching the red of the thong.

  "You think I'm some kind of slut,” she blurted impulsively. “Don't you?"